Slip Knot

A half day making a fool of yourself in the spinning room ain’t much of a workday,” Fortuna said as the shift finished and men trickled onto the street. “Now go directly to Mrs. Cabral’s and earn your keep.”

“I need the gear in my duffle,” Lucky replied. “If you tell me where it is, I’d be pleased to fetch it.”

Fortuna only laughed and cuffed him on the back of the head.

Lucky watched as Fortuna and Antone, the cussed scalawag who’d played first mate in his shanghai, disappeared into one of the many taverns that lined South Water Street.

Then he turned on his heel and headed in the opposite direction of the boardinghouse, making his way down Union Street to the waterfront.

His nerves were wound tight as a spool of thread. Pressing the cords on the back of his neck, he moved his head from side to side and felt a pop. His ears rang with the absence of the constant roar of the engines and clacking of the spindles, and his chest hurt from breathing the lint-filled air. In all the whales he’d chased, dirty weather he’d sailed through, and dangerous ports he’d visited, Lucky couldn’t remember a time when he’d been more tired.

For hours he had scampered across the mill’s slippery floor, following Fortuna’s barked orders. Cleaning, sweeping, fetching, and trying to stay out of the way of the doffers, whose job it was to remove the spinning frames once they filled with thread and replace them with empty ones.

And this had been only a half day. Tomorrow he was to report at seven bells!

He tried to shake off the dread, but it coiled around him.

The single bright spot in the day was almost a fight. Gaspar, the surly apprentice, had erupted into a tirade over a missing tuber, an instrument used to drop the cylinders onto the mule spindles. Ranting and raving, he had accused half the room, Lucky included, of stealing the device.

When the tuber appeared later under his own stool, Gaspar was sullen and unapologetic.

Only Lucky had seen the dark spinner recover the tuber from a bin of scrap threads and place it there. Their eyes had met. Lucky smiled, remembering.

He rounded the corner onto Bethel Street and considered going into the seamen’s church for a moment to pay his respects to Pa’s memorial marker. But Pa would have urged him to press on. The ship’s agents would be gone soon, and another day would pass before Lucky could work on his escape. “Pull your socks up, Lucky,” Pa’d have said. Lucky doffed his cap as he passed.

A long line of men snaked around the gray stone building on Taber’s Wharf.

“Why such a crowd?” Lucky asked a boy with the smell of farm on his jacket.

The greenhand looked at him wide-eyed. “There’s a new vein been found in California. They say there’s gold to be had for the pickin’.”

The door to Merrill’s Ship Outfitters swung open and a small man stepped out and surveyed the line with a shake of his gray head. “If you’re here to sign on in hopes of landing in San Francisco, shove off. None of Merrill’s ships will be stopping anywhere in the vicinity.”

Groans and heavy sighs rose from the crowd as the men in line wandered off in all directions.

“Heard they might be taking on crew at Hastings,” the country boy said.

“I’ll stay here, thanks.” Lucky headed for the door.

“In case you didn’t hear,” the ship’s agent said, not looking up from a ledger on the desk when the bell announced Lucky’s arrival, “none of Merrill’s—”

“Yes, sir, I heard. Gold’s not what I’m after; unless you’re speaking of the greasy kind.”

The man looked up from his ledger. “You Black Jack’s boy?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Sorry to hear about your pa, son. He was quite a character. Be missed for sure.”

“You knew him?”

“Only by reputation,” the agent said.

Lucky laid a tentative hand on the counter. “Well, I’m just as fishy, sir, and furthermore aim to follow in his footsteps as a master rigger.”

“Son, you could be the fishiest hand in all of Christendom, and no agent on the waterfront would take you on. Not and risk the wrath of the magistrates of this city, being as you…” He shuffled through a stack of papers on his desk. “have not yet attained the age of majority.”

Lucky slumped against the counter. He’d been holding out a minnow’s scale of hope that Fortuna had lied.

The agent handed him a small handbill.

Let all interested parties be advised:

Lucky Valera, a colored boy of Cape Verdean descent and approximately 5 feet tall, was born in May of 1838. Being under the age of majority, and without written permission from his guardian, Fernando Fortuna, is expressly prohibited and furthermore not allowed to ship out under the laws of the state of Massachusetts.

The lad has been cautioned against stopping at the wharves, pestering the good men of New Bedford. Any who find him at the waterfront are encouraged to box his ears and send him to M. Cabral’s boardinghouse, Cannon Street. By Fernando Fortuna.

Lucky took a step back, placing the paper on the counter. His cheeks felt hot with shame and indignation.

“No need to trouble yerself,” the agent said, the lines around his eyes creasing. “I’ll not box yer ears.”

“I thank you, sir.” Lucky turned and left, the bell on the door jingling behind him.

What now? He peered down the street. Merrill’s wasn’t the only agent. Maybe he could find one who hadn’t gotten the cussed notice.

No. More likely, he’d get an agent only too willing to mete out an ear boxing. Or worse. Men in the maritime trades had no patience for deception. Lucky thought about invoking whaleman’s commandment #2 (lie, but never about anything important), but decided any agent worth his salt would consider protecting his ship from trouble with the law of considerable importance.

Fortuna had certainly shown himself to be the biggest toad in this puddle. Lucky gritted his teeth.

Aawk. The gull sailed low over his head, almost knocking his cap off again before heading south along Water Street.

Lucky brightened. “Ahoy, Delph.”

The bird landed on a long wooden sign, which hung across the front of a building. Lucky hurried to catch up. The western horizon had taken on a rose-colored glow. He wondered if Mrs. Cabral had missed him yet. There were few people about. Likely, most had gone home for their evening meal. Lucky’s mouth watered at the thought of delicious stew. But he had more important business to attend to.

The gull shrilled down at him impatiently.

“What in the blue blazes are you trying to—” Lucky gazed again at the sign above. “Rowland’s Counting House,” he read. He was proud of being able to read, though he’d resisted sorely at first when presented with the opportunity aboard the Nightbird, when the master’s wife had offered to teach him. “Of course, you go,” Pa’d said. “When someone throws you a line, grab it with both hands.” Lucky glanced up and saw opportunity. Rowland was a name he knew.

He strode up to the door and twisted the knob. Locked. He put his hands around his eyes and peered through the window. Empty.

“Who dost thou seek?”

Lucky turned to find a girl in plain Quaker dress regarding him through wide green eyes. She was almost his height, with a shiny mass of hemp-colored curls that spilled out from under the edge of her black bonnet. She held a hatbox under her arm and a notice in her free hand.

When she smiled at him, his cheeks warmed and he felt a bit lightheaded.

She thrust the paper at Lucky.

“Good people of New Bedford,” he read aloud. “The time has come for those with conscience to act. Come hear the words of Mr. Frederick Douglass, formerly enslaved in Virginia. He will tell you the harrowing account of his life in chains and how he escaped to walk among us a free man. Once you hear his story, you will be prompted to act as a person of conscience to end this abomination, which threatens to drown our nation under the weight of injustice. Thursday next at Liberty Hall.”

She took a brush and jar of paste from the hatbox. Dipping the brush, she painted a place on the notice board.

“Hold this, please.” She handed the glue to Lucky.

“What’s it to me?” he said, torn between interest and an eagerness to be off.

“I’d have thought thee’d have a care about thy brethren,” she said and turned back to the board, smoothing a copy of the meeting notice over the paste.

“But I’m no escaped slave.”

“We’re all children of the same Creator,” she said, taking the jar of glue and turning back to the notice.

Lucky stared hard at her narrow back. “You talk like a book,” he said.

She searched his face for a moment, then smiled. “A nice compliment, though I’m not sure you meant it as such. But I’ve read plenty.”

“Do you know when Rowland’s Counting House opens in the morning?”

“Have you important business?” she asked.

She mocked him, blasted girl! And she was littler and certainly no older than he.

“Very important.” He puffed out his chest.

“I see.” She raised her eyebrows. A small patch of freckles over the bridge of her nose lifted slightly.

“Captain Rowland owes me a debt.” What possessed him to bother with this girl, he wondered? Still, he couldn’t seem to stop himself.

“Owes thee?”

He nodded, biting down on his lower lip to stop his fool tongue from flapping. The walls of the counting house seemed to lean toward him accusingly.

“Godspeed collecting it. Captain Rowland has been at sea these thirteen months.”

Lucky would have been angry, but as she spoke, the wind went right out of her sails. She suddenly looked so miserable that his irritation evaporated like morning fog.

“He’s your pa, isn’t he?”

“Yes,” the girl said, the corners of her eyes creasing slightly. “I’m Emmeline Rowland.”

The gull cried and they both squinted up at the sign.

“If that bird cries ‘Nevermore’, I’ll be taking my leave.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Never mind,” she said. “What does my father owe thee?”

“Well,” Lucky tried to decide whether he should keep talking. “It’s actually my father he owes,” he admitted.

“What dost thou have to do with it?” She eyed him with suspicion.

“I’m here to collect.” He felt his patience ebbing.

“Why didn’t thy father come himself?”

“Dead,” Lucky answered.

“I’m sorry,” she said, touching a gold brooch at her neck. “I lost my mother.” Emmeline pointed at the notice she’d put up. “She was devoted to the abolitionist cause. I intend to follow in her footsteps.”

“My pa was the best rigger on the eastern seaboard. I’m gonna follow in his footsteps.”

“That’s a dangerous business.”

Lucky’s chin lifted. “I know my way around a ship. Once sailed through a hurricane off the Horn. Waves big as this building.”

“Weren’t thou afraid?”

“Nah, I’m so salty I float,” he bragged.

Her eyes widened and the smile she favored him with stretched the freckles across her face. “Maybe there’s something I could do for thee?”

He mustn’t let himself get starry-eyed. If he didn’t get out of New Bedford, the only steps he’d be following were Fortuna’s. “Could you pay the debt in his stead? Aren’t you in charge of the household, with your mother gone and your pa at sea?”

“He remarried,” she said. “I have a new mother now. At least that’s what she makes me call her.” Her lips formed a thin and determined line.

“Does she beat you?”

“Worse.” Emmeline tucked the notices under her arm and closed the box. “She sent me to Miss Patience Pritwell’s School for Young Ladies of Quality.”

“Doesn’t sound so bad to me,” Lucky offered.

“Thou hasn’t met Miss Patience Pritwell.”

“So run away,” Lucky said. “That’s what I’m doing.” He gazed toward the harbor where fishing boats were returning with the day’s catch.

“I have,” she said. “In a manner of speaking, that is.”

“You?” Lucky gazed at her with genuine admiration. Who’d have thought that so proper a girl could show so much gumption?

She said something in a low voice that Lucky couldn’t hear.

“What?”

“I was asked to leave, if thou must know,” she said.

He laughed out loud. “What could you have done?”

“Any number of things, I assure thee.” She looked mildly offended. “As it happens, there was an unfortunate incident involving another of Miss Pritwell’s students.”

“You got into a scuffle? I hope you walloped her, and good!”

“I did no such thing,” Emmeline said backing away as though to distance herself from the accusation. “We Quakers are peace-loving people.”

“What happened?”

“The girl in question, and I shall not call her a lady, fell.” Her eyes narrowed and her nostrils flared slightly. “It’s my personal opinion that she tripped over her own silly feet.”

“But you were blamed.”

“I was a convenient scapegoat.” She sniffed. “Betwixt thee, me, and the lamppost, I was only too glad to go.” Her face brightened.

“What’s so terrible about Miss Patience Pritwell’s school?”

“What’s so terrible about thine own life that thou’d ask repayment of a debt belonging to another?”

“A dirty-dog half brother who’s appointed himself master and me slave.”

“I wish I had a sister…or brother.” Emmeline gazed wistfully toward the mastheads at the wharf.

“Not like Fortuna, you wouldn’t! Besides, I’m a sailor and sailors are self-sufficient.”

“No man is an island.”

“I have to be. I was raised aboard a ship and don’t have any friends here. And Fortuna’s a dirtier dog than you’re ever likely to meet. ‘Specially up there on the hill with the rest of the codfish aristocracy.”

Her lips pursed and Lucky wondered if he’d gone too far. But after gazing at him for a long moment, she smiled.

“Perhaps we can help each other.”

“How could I possibly help you?”

“Thou pointed out how…isolated I am. And besides, being male, thou can go places I cannot. I’ve a bargain in mind.”

Lucky eyed her warily. “What kind of bargain?”

“Aid my cause and I’ll aid thine. A caution first: it may prove dangerous.”

Lucky expelled breath like an exasperated whale. “Danger’s nothing to me. I once escaped a band of sword-wielding cutthroats in Madagascar.”

“Then what I propose should be a cakewalk.”

“How could you possibly help me? You already said you have no money.”

“True. But the way I see it, money is not thy need. Thou needest a place on a whaling ship.”

“You said your father is gone.”

“True, but did I mention my mother’s brother is also a shipmaster? Captain Abermarle Mayhew, of the Perseverance, which sails in two weeks time. A word in his ear from his favorite niece…”

“Never heard of him,” Lucky said. “Does he sail out of New Bedford?”

“Boston. But he’ll be stopping here to take on crew.”

“I’m just looking to catch up with my ship.”

“Thou may prefer Uncle’s.”

“Nah, the Nightbird’s my home, the crew is my family.”

“Please thyself, I’m sure Uncle would agree.”

“There’s another problem: I have no permission. Your uncle’s not likely to risk trouble with the magistrates.”

“Perhaps not, but did I mention he’s devoted to the abolitionist cause? When I tell him thou has assisted me, he’ll want to help thee. And as they say: blood is thicker than water.”

“So I’ve heard.”

The gull swooped off the sign and landed on the lamppost, tapping the glass with its yellow beak.

“What’s thy friend’s name?” Emmeline asked.

“Him?” Lucky pointed stupidly at the bird. What was it about this girl that made him so nervous? “I call him Delph.”

She giggled behind her gloved hand. “Thou may be a skilled sailor, but thou hast clearly no knowledge of the science of ornithology.”

“Orni-what?”

“The study of birds.”

Lucky puffed his chest. “What do you know about it?”

“For one, that creature’s a she-gull.”

“I know it’s a seagull, you daft landlubber. The songs of gulls were my lullabies as a baby.”

“That’s not what I said. It’s a she. I think thy feathered friend is a girl.”

Lucky stared at Emmeline for a moment, then peered back at the gull. Delph tap-tapped on the lamp globe again. “How can you tell?”

She smiled sweetly. “She’s rather small for a male. Didst thou know, the gull isn’t thine only friend about this eve?”

“What do you mean?” Lucky glanced around the street. Just a few clerks and banker-looking gentlemen about. A horse-drawn carriage passed and traveled down Front Street.

“A colored man. There, beside the candleworks.” She pointed at the corner, but Lucky observed no one. “He’s gone now.” Shadows gathered in the doorways.

Lucky figured Fortuna must have finished his drink and come looking. But it wasn’t like his guardian to slink away. Perhaps he was spying to see if the rich girl would give Lucky something he could steal. He looked for the gull, but it had vanished. A knot of dread settled in Lucky’s belly. “I’d best be off,” he said and started toward the wharves.

“What about our bargain?” Emmeline called.

“I’ll take it,” he said, turning.

“Fine. I’ll see thee at the meeting.”

Hugging the side of Hazzard’s Ropewalk, he peered down the street toward the waterfront. No sign of anyone lurking in the shadows. Lucky advanced. The smell of whale oil and the sound of distant pounding made his feet feel lighter on the cobbles. Over the tops of the buildings, a forest of masts came into view. His breathing slowed, he was almost there.

But when he glanced back, he spotted movement in a doorway. A gull cried. Delph? He couldn’t see a dark head in the gathering twilight, but the call seemed to urge him forward, toward the water.

He broke into a run.